


not quite a miracle

by Murf1307



Category: Ghostfacers - Fandom, Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Canon Gay Character, First Kiss, Ghosts, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-17
Updated: 2016-01-17
Packaged: 2018-05-14 14:09:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5747356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Murf1307/pseuds/Murf1307
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On a very dark night, Ed Zeddmore receives a visit from an old love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	not quite a miracle

**Author's Note:**

> written for a tumblr prompt: "edbett, 'why are you at my doorstep at three in the morning…'"

He’s a hunter, he supposes.It’s the only option, now, isolated and left alone mostly through his own fault, his own mistakes.After all, he’s already gotten people killed, right?

Killing monsters shouldn’t be so hard when he’s already got this much blood on his hands.

One night, nursing a slash to his side from a pissed-off spirit, he sits in the back of the van, the doors open to the cold night air as he tries to figure out where to go next.

The thing about hunting alone, he’s realized, is that most of the time?There’s no clear path from case to case.A lot of handling the end of one case, a lot of nothing, and then maybe, if he’s lucky, he’ll find a new case three or four towns over.

He _hates_ it.

Sighing, he reaches for a beer.Now he knows why Dean Winchester acts like a fucking alcoholic — he probably _is_.

Then, to his surprise, a familiar smell starts filling up the air around him. _Fuck._

“Why are _you_ here?It’s three a.m., you know.”

Of course it’s Corbett, and of course it’s _now_ , when he’s at his lowest, that Corbett’s ghost comes back to haunt him again.Not when they almost had something years ago, no — _now_ , when he’s falling apart and broken down by his own failures.

This isn’t how he wants to be seen.

Something cool lands on his hand, pulls at the bottle like it’s trying to get it out of his hand.He sighs, puts the bottle down.“Can you talk?Or…?”

The smell, french vanilla and ground coffee, intensifies.

Sounds like no, then, on the talking.

“Why tonight?”His voice catches in his throat.“Fuck, Corbett, why _me_? _”_

He hasn’t said his name out loud in years.After the incident with Ambyr, really, he hasn’t dared.Definitely hasn’t since last Leap Year.

But he says it now, almost eight years after Corbett died, because maybe it’ll help instead of hurt, this time.That this isn’t just chasing Corbett’s memory because he couldn’t save his life.

The chill grows and spreads, taking both his hands now, and the feeling of pressure, too, like he’s holding his hands.

_Fuck_.

“I’m sorry.Shit, I…I’m sorry.I should’ve been better.”

Another point of contact, against his forehead, and he stares straight ahead, as if into eyes that aren’t there.The air he’s breathing in is cooler, too, as if Corbett’s exhale has become his inhale.

Of course, Corbett is a ghost, so he’s not really _breathing,_ but…semantics.

“Can you stay?For a while, at least?” he asks, not quite begging.“I can’t.I can’t do this alone.”

Cool pressure against his lips, and his eyes widen in surprise. 

Then, against all odds, he laughs.

It’s not a miracle, but for now, it’s close enough for him.


End file.
